Hours, A Day

The girl has only a few hours left before her teenage life ends. Would she be able to do all that she wishes to do as a teen before the clock strikes 12?

Seems like a coming of age movie.
A bildungsroman, maybe.
An anxiety inducing reality.

I belong to the night, I told them.
And I guess I understand why they think
That 2 am thoughts are some kind of poetic.

I have been back to living in the daylight.
My once paler skin now golden with sun,
And faceless friends now come with tangible ones.

I bought into the transformation
That comes with cutting your own hair,
Something about rebirth, something about owning changes. -
Maybe there isn't much to it.
But the boys here like it,
I think.
They like me.

They like me - me shined on by daylight.
Me with the laughs and sarcastic quips.
Me the "crazy."
Me with the lipsticks.
Me the "walking dictionary."

But I belong to the night, always.
Me, I, glowing moonlight.
Me poetic, me erotic.
Me the gentle, me the morbid.
Me quite comfortably swimming in insanity.


Me…the positively dark.


The clock struck 12 and I was asleep since 7.
The dread already started the other day.
Maybe there's something
Of losing youth to be afraid of,
Of saying goodbye to teenage dreams.
Maybe there's a lot to look forward to.

The girl has no time left and she turned 20.
She didn't do
Anything
Remarkable,
Wasn't able to get what she wished for.

But this is no novel,
This is no movie.

So maybe…
This is okay.


September 5, 2017